


Naval Tradition

by imaginary_golux



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 23:19:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3429209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Golden Oldies Porn Battle, prompt: Elizabeth/Jack/Norrington, …and the lash.</p>
<p>Dubcon warning: Norrington is quite drunk during the sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Naval Tradition

James – no longer Commodore Norrington – has quite mastered the art of quaffing rum by the time Elizabeth and Jack find him. It is very simple. One raises the bottle and drinks until all its contents are gone, and then one does so again and again, until the world is delightfully fuzzy and all one’s past sins are forgotten in the haze, and one’s eyes and mind are quite thoroughly muddled.

Sodomy, he finds, is slightly more complicated. He is not quite sure how he got aboard the _Black Pearl_ – he is still, after all, rather muddled by the quantities of rum he has already imbibed – and, indeed, he is quite thoroughly unclear on how he ended up in a rather disgraceful state of dishabille, sprawled over the bed – and, indeed, the body – of a notorious pirate, while said pirate’s callused and absurdly talented fingers, coated in quite an astonishing amount of oil, make quite free with his nether regions.

James’ body is quite sure it is enjoying itself. What is left of his mind is rather in agreement, as the pirate’s fingers are slick and warm and _merciful God_ very clever. Somewhere in the back of his head, though, a little voice which sounds a great deal like Commodore Norrington is screaming about the penalties for sodomy, and the lengths to which an honorable man will go to avoid such defilement. The little voice is getting louder as the rum burns off in the fires of lust, too.

Below him, the pirate chuckles, and oily hands grasp his hips and lift him up with surprising ease – surely he has not lost _that_ much weight? Or is the pirate merely that strong, for all his wiry build? – and lower him down again, spraddle-legged across the pirate’s lap. James is too drunk and relaxed to tense up, but the sensation of something quite a bit larger than fingers invading a place where no one has ever dared go before is…startling. Pleasant, he decides after a moment, but startling.

But the little voice is getting louder, and James thinks that perhaps he ought to fight back, ought to struggle to climb off of the pirate and out of the bed and out of this ill-omened ship entirely.

He has forgotten Elizabeth. This is unprecedented, as it happens, and it is a very brief event in any case, because as soon as the pirate is thoroughly seated in James, there is a throaty chuckle from behind him, and Elizabeth says, “Such pretty boys. But you’d look finer with some stripes, James my lad.”

James doesn’t even have time to process this astonishing sentiment before the first stroke of her lash lands. It is, he learns later, a doeskin flogger, quite soft and easy to use, and it is not built to injure, only to inspire. He is, he must admit, inspired. The shock and sting of it drive the little voice entirely out of his head, and he gives himself up to his body’s lust, following the guidance of the pirate’s hands on his hips as he rocks back and forth, like riding a horse or a ship at sea, and Elizabeth’s strokes land in time with his own motions, urging him to greater exertions.

Beneath him, the pirate is grinning that infuriating grin, and murmuring obscene encouragement between loud moans; behind him, Elizabeth is showering endearments upon him that he never hoped to hear, and strokes of the lash which he knows he has earned; and James gives himself up to it entirely, to the pleasure and the pain so intermixed he cannot quite tell which is which, and comes with a hoarse and incoherent cry all over the pirate and the bed.

He wakes up the next morning, clean and sober, and quite alone, in the bed which was the scene of his deflowerment. There is a mug of clean water and a ship’s biscuit on the table by the head of the bed, and a note. He eats before he reads it, reasoning that anything good will still be there when he is done, and anything bad can wait until he is fed.

_Dear James,_ it says, in Elizabeth’s elegant hand, _Jack and I have gone out; we thought you could use the sleep. We’ll be back by sunset. If you’re still here, well, consider last night a taste of what we have to offer. If not, no hard feelings._

_P.S. Jack assures me that last night was in line with the finest naval traditions. You will have to tell me sometime if he was lying through his teeth again or not._

James puts the letter down, and sits for a moment staring blankly at the mug and the empty plate, and the scrap of paper with his future rolled up into it; and then he lies down again and pulls the blankets up, and closes his eyes. When he wakes again, either this will all be a dream, or he will be well-rested enough to take a slightly more active role in the next few hours.

Either way, he rather thinks perhaps he has had enough rum for a while.


End file.
